


Twenty-Four Hours of Work and Play

by JessiRomantic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, BAMF Pansy Parkinson, Celebrations, Cunnilingus, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Leaky Cauldron, Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, One Shot, Oral Sex, Party, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Ron Weasley-centric, Rondemption, Sassy Pansy Parkinson, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Weasleys Witches & Writers Wild Weasley Celebration Fest 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25410361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessiRomantic/pseuds/JessiRomantic
Summary: At the end of a really long day at work, Ron goes to a Ministry function. While there feeling more and more out of place and alienated from his friends, he bumps into Pansy Parkinson.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46
Collections: Wild Weasley Celebration





	Twenty-Four Hours of Work and Play

**Author's Note:**

> I want to say a huge thank you to lolitaweasley, ninamaria429 and NicoDiAngeloLover7 for alpha'ing and beta'ing this piece.
> 
> This is the longest one shot I have written, and you have all helped make this the fic it is.

_Raining, just my luck_.

Taking a deep breath to prepare himself for the imminent downpour, Ron Weasley opened the front door to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and closed it sharply behind him before waving his wand to lock it. With another flick, the overnight warding on the shop was activated. Not for the first time, he was kicking himself for never learning the charm that Hermione used to cast to keep the rain from their heads.

_Fuck_.

He cursed his brother for his paranoia that meant that he was unable to apparate directly into the little flat over the shop. With another deep breath, he threw the back of his garishly orange work robes over his head and dashed through the pelts of rain around the corner of the shop and up the rickety metal stairs on the side of the building. He hurriedly cast the necessary spells to enter and darted into the tiny flat. Exhausted, he slumped onto the concave, threadbare sofa in the living room in his still damp robes, letting the raindrops that had been caught in his fringe trickle down his face. He closed his eyes, reflecting on his hectic day. 

He was awake at five-thirty, as it was his week to do the Saturday morning shift. When his brother had joined him in the shop at eleven-thirty, he had already had to stop three people from sampling the Puking Pastilles, fielded five angry mothers, and _Scorgify_ ’d the front of his robes of spillages at least ten times. At around four-thirty, Angelina had come into the store and dragged George aside. After much bribing and begging, Ron had agreed to cover the rest of the day for George to leave early for a viewing of a house across London that the couple had their eye on. To top it off, due to a particularly awkward customer who had arrived ten minutes before closing he had been thirty minutes late leaving the shop.

Just as Ron was beginning to relax, and considering a bath, he heard the whoosh of the Floo. Looking up, he saw his best friend dusting ash from his dress robes.

_Fuck!_

“Hermione’s thing!” Ron exclaimed, attempting to jump up from the sofa, but it was so low in the middle it was a struggle. “Shit, I completely forgot.”

Emerald green eyes narrowed at him. 

“Sure you did,” Harry said incredulously. Ron could not blame him. Since the break-up just under a year ago, he had been avoiding any event his ex-girlfriend may have attended.

“Honestly, mate, I’ve just walked through the door,” he explained. “Give me ten minutes to shower and I’ll be with you.”

Twelve minutes later, Ron was showered and dressed in some well tailored navy dress-robes. He had cringed slightly when he had pulled them from the wardrobe. Hermione had picked them out.

Still, personal style was not his strong suit and he liked this set. They were tailored around his slim shoulders and trim waist. They fastened with a row of tortoiseshell buttons from his sternum to his hips and were lined with silk that had a colourful paisley design. The matching trousers were a slim fit that complimented his tall frame. He opted for a simple white shirt to wear underneath. Checking his face and hair in the large mirror above the fireplace, he turned to Harry and smiled.

“Come on then,” the dark haired man said. “Ginny is probably wearing a hole in the stone floor waiting for us.” Ron grimaced. He was not looking forward to the prospect of his younger sister given how late they were arriving. After the birth of each of her three children, she morphed more and more into their mother. With a temper to match.

Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, he stepped into the fireplace and called, “Ministry of Magic.” With a whirl and a thunk, he landed in one of the many grates in the foyer of the institution. Sure enough, his sister was pacing the floor waiting for the two men to arrive. Her head whipped around at his arrival, her long hair flying, and glared at her brother.

He raised his hands in supplication before she could say anything, “My shift at work overran. Harry arrived at mine just after I got home.” She raised her eyebrow accusingly. “I may have also slightly forgotten.”

She sighed and deflated. Unlike Harry, she understood that this was not an excuse, “I know this stuff is still hard for you, but this is a big deal for her. You know how hard she worked for this.”

Ron knew. The werewolf equality laws were a contributing factor in his break-up with Hermione. He was still proud of her. Even though they did not work as a couple, she was still one of his best friends and she had fought tooth and nail, night and day for the laws that had been passed through the Wizengamot. He smiled at Ginny and said that he understood. Harry joined them and they walked down the corridor towards the events space. 

The room was added to the Ministry in the wake of the war as a place to hold ceremonies and celebrations. Tonight, it had been decorated with champagne gold and deep red silk draping across the ceiling giving the illusion of being in a large marquee. Ron could not help but smirk at the colour scheme. Over ten years since they had left Hogwarts and the red and gold of Gryffindor was following all three of them around like a bad smell. A soft glow was provided by Fairies that had been dotted across the silks and around the edge of the room.

Looking around, Ron took in the guests gathered to celebrate the momentous occasion. In the far corner, he recognised his parents, siblings and their partners, laughing boisterously and chatting animatedly. Harry and Ginny made a beeline for the group and waved for him to follow. He indicated that he would join them in a moment, once he had picked something up from one of the buffet tables along the wall. As he walked over to the tables, piled high with food that looked a bit poncy for his tastes, he took in the rest of the guests. 

In a small group just along from his family were a group of witches and wizards, a couple of whom he recognised from the handful of times that Hermione had managed to drag him out with her colleagues. There was a group of greying men in a corner that was the furthest they could stand from his family glaring at the crowd that had gathered in the centre of the room. They were all talking in hushed tones, some looking frantic, and others looking like they had just been told that their kneazle had just been Avada’d. He supposed they were the members of the Wizengamot that were the most resistant to the new legislation. 

Taking a fortifying breath, his gaze drifted to them. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic, stood proudly next to his protégé. Her wild mane, tamed into beautiful coils and curls, had been pulled back from her face in one of her ‘ _I have ten minutes until I have to leave but my hair isn’t behaving_ ’ styles. She was wearing a dress in the same champagne gold as the drapes that suited her beautifully, and was beaming and blushing under the praise she was clearly receiving from all that were surrounding her.

A tap on his shoulder broke him out of his reflections so he glanced behind him to the person who had interrupted his train of thoughts. “Are you going to move forward, Weasley, or are you just going to stand there staring at the guest of honour like a gormless giant?” Pansy Parkinson sneered at him.

“Why are you here?” he blurted in his usual tactless manner, though he did what she was asking and stepped closer to the buffet table. He picked up a plate from the pile and started to nervously fill it with whatever he could find in his arms reach. 

_What the fuck is this grey stuff?_

Pansy raised a single manicured eyebrow in derision, picked up a plate, and carefully surveyed the nourishments on offer. “Same reason as you, I suspect,” she replied, while delicately selecting a few of the most daunting dishes, ( _Was that an oyster?_ ) as well as a few salad leaves. She paused, bit her lip, then reached and put a single mini quiche on her plate.

While she was contemplating the selection of food, Ron took the opportunity to look at the woman properly. Her short dark hair was parted to the side and styled in soft waves with some of it pinned behind her ear away from her face. She wore minimal jewellery and make-up. Her skin looked fresh and a light blush was on her cheek, her jade green eyes lined with black and she wore shimmery taupe eyeshadow on her lids. She, like him, had opted for blue dress robes, though hers were a silky cobalt blue. They were elegant and from the front, with their high neckline and cinched waist seemed quite conservative, but when she turned to look at the smoked salmon on offer he saw that the back was completely open.

Without missing a beat, nor looking directly at him, she said, “Is staring at women a hobby or something, Weasley? First Granger, now me. I would be flattered if you did not look so much like a fish when you did it.” 

At her second admonishment in ten minutes Ron felt quite flustered and was not sure how to respond so simply indicated to the centre of the room where Hermione was still holding court, “I better go say hi,” he said lamely. She simply raised her eyebrow at him again but nodded curtly before he scurried away. He noticed that Harry and Ginny were among the throng and slowly made his way through the melee to Harry’s side.

“Hey, Hermione,” he said gently, smiling genuinely at the happy glow that was beaming from his best friend. “Well done, I know how much this means for you.”

She smiled back at him, in a way that was halfway between patronisation and understanding. It reminded him why they never worked in the long run. “Thanks, Ron, I’m so glad you’re here. It means a lot.” There was a slightly pregnant pause between the group of friends, “How is work for you?” He knew what she was asking, of course. Working with George was only supposed to be temporary after quitting his promising career as an Auror. That was over four years now.

“Busy, very busy. I think we’re going to need a new Saturday girl,” he replied, thinking about the girl who had called in sick five times in the last seven weeks.

“George mentioned that he was moving out of the flat soon,” Ginny said. “What are you going to do about a flatmate?” 

That bombshell had been dropped on him the previous night.

“Oh, erm,” he stuttered, “I was thinking of seeing if Neville needed a room. I know that he was struggling with living with Dean and Seamus lately,” he said. It was true, it had crossed his mind to contact his fellow Gryffindor alum.

“You didn’t hear?” Harry asked. “Sorry, mate, he decided to make a go of it with Hannah and live with her at the Leaky.”

“Oh,” Ron said dejectedly. “I’ll figure it out,” he shrugged.

“I’m sure you will,” Hermione said, with that annoying smile on her face again. Just then, he saw her subtly reach for a hand and his stomach dropped like a stone. Walking over to them to stand proudly next to her was Viktor Krum. Ron’s blood could not help but boil and the edges of his vision were blurring. 

_I knew there was something there_. 

He knew she would never cheat but where Hermione had been his first everything, that the Bulgarian Quidditch player next to her had that honour for Hermione. But then she looked at Krum with a look on her face that he knew well. It was like an ice bucket was poured over his head. She had smiled like that at him once. It was not the besotted look of someone who was in love, but it was the tentative happiness that comes from a new relationship.

“I need to, erm, bathroom,” he stuttered. He shoved the still mostly full plate of food into Harry’s hand and dashed from the room as quickly as he could without trying to make a scene. He turned the first corner down a deserted corridor. Leaning against the wall he bent forward to grasp his knees, all the while taking deep breaths to calm himself down. 

What was he even doing here? He loved his friends, but this whole thing confirmed to him how distant he was from them now. He was knocking on the door of thirty and he felt like he had nothing to show for it while his friends were all moving forward in life. Whenever he would go for drinks with Harry and Ginny they would always end up talking about their children. When he went out with the lads they would always end up talking about Dean and Seamus eagerly anticipating their upcoming nuptials; or Terry’s high power job at Gringotts; or Harry’s recent promotion as the youngest Head of the Auror Department in History.

“Why are you standing outside the women’s bathroom, Weasley?”

Ron groaned and faced the tall ex-Slytherin woman. “Piss off, Parkinson,” he replied. “Why are you _even_ here?”

Pansy’s mouth narrowed to a straight line and her eyes narrowed, “No need to be so rude,” she replied, avoiding Ron’s question for the second time.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he shot back.

Pansy looked positively murderous before considering what she said next, “I was familiar with Fenrir Greyback during the war.” Her face changed the moment she answered. She straightened her back and lifted her chin, making her look how he remembered her from school.

“Surely that would mean that you would be against the laws changing?” he said. While he had a habit of putting his foot in his mouth, he knew that the war was not a topic to talk about unless information was volunteered. He had heard rumours about Pansy’s father during the war. Many had. While Voldemort did not stay at the Parkinson’s residence like he did with the Malfoys, their manor house in Derbyshire was still a hive of Death Eater activity.

“I did not want another one of him to exist. Granger’s new laws will ensure that.”

Ron coughed and nodded. He knew that was the goal Hermione had in mind when she proposed the first revision to the law. He watched her nervously as she gave him an assessing look, unsure if she was about to murder him or kiss him. Her smokey green eyes met his and her face set in determination, 

“Fancy getting out of here Weasley?” He did not answer, simply looked at her in shock, “Oh, not like that. I was already heading to the Leaky Cauldron, between the lecherous old men and the death glares from your friends, I was not planning on enduring this for much longer. Judging by the permanently pained expression on your face I would guess that you were hoping to make your great escape.” Ron absently found himself nodding in agreement, and following Pansy to the Ministry foyer and over to the fireplaces, calling out for the pub.

When he stepped into the crowded establishment, he found Pansy waiting for him by the fireplace. She looked at their attire with a critical eye and waved her wand over him and did the same for herself. Her ankle-length dress robes shortened to just above her knee and the silky material became cotton, making it look less formal. Her shoes, which had originally been strappy black heels, lowered slightly and had morphed into canvas wedges. He looked down at himself and saw that she had done something similar to his own clothes, his trousers were now a dark wash pair of slim jeans, his shirt a simple white t-shirt and his long robes a lightweight bomber jacket with the same silk lining that his robes had.

He looked up at her with a scowl, “They were my favourite!”

She waved her hand dismissively. “It will wear off in about twelve hours. A handy spell, no? Something I perfected to be sure that I am not seen in the same outfit at every meeting.”

He simply grunted then made his way over to the bar to order their drinks. Finding a cramped table in the darkest corner of the pub, they sat in an awkward silence initially, but once the Firewhiskies started to set in, the conversation flowed easily. It seemed that she, like him, felt left behind by her friends.

“My entire life has been planned out for me since I can remember,” she said, “then the war happened and those plans changed, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. Everything I do is something that I have planned in advance.”

He was not sure if it was the fact that she was someone that he did not know, her nature, or the alcohol in his system, but he found himself opening up to her in an unexpected way. “I don’t even miss her, y’know? It didn’t work. We always fought and stuff, but I miss having someone, y’know?” he slurred after his fifth drink.

Pansy nodded, “Yeah, I get-chu,” she replied before slamming one elbow on the table in front of her and pointing to his ear, “you miss the int’m’see.”

He sat back in his chair, his eyes a little wild and wagged his finger at her. “‘Sactly!” he slumped, looking dejected. “Can’t believe she ended up with Krum,” he mumbled.

Pansy snorted, “Int’nash-null quidditch star,” she turned her jade eyes on him then, in the same unnerving way she had at the Ministry, “you’re not bad though.”

His breath hitched then, as her eyes darkened. “You’re drunk,” he said, with a gruffness in his voice.

“Not,” she declared, lifting her chin. “Ev’rything I do’s ‘cause I planned to. I din’t plan t’be drunk.”

“That so?” he was smirking now.

“Yup,” she nodded. “I ded- deds- decided that I’d do one,” she held a finger up and swayed slightly in her chair, “sponta-nus thing tonight,” she pointed at the ground, “and tha’ was comin’ here wivv you.”

“I see,” he replied, though in truth he was not sure he did. Just as he was about to speak, he heard the bell from the bar and Hannah’s yell that indicated last orders. He looked at her then and smiled cheekily, “Fancy a nightcap? I only live down the street.” 

Her smile widened and she nodded. He stood up and offered her the crook of his arm. She stood from her seat and manoeuvred her body surprisingly gracefully given her inebriated state, and they made their way out of the door that led to Diagon Alley. Even though she seemed stable to the casual observer, she was leaning heavily on his support, and even tripped slightly on a couple of cobbles. There was only enough room for one person at a time to go up the steps to his flat, so she held onto the handrail as she climbed the stairs. 

He was beginning to feel a little unsure as to just how drunk she was, so when they got through the door, made a decision. “I’m going t’take a bit of sob’ring potion,” when she narrowed her eyes at him. “Will keep the buzz, jus’ wanna take the edge off. Want some?”

She nodded, “Good idea.” He led her into the kitchen and handed her a shot glass with the potion in, and downed his own. 

“Wow,” Pansy gasped from beside him, “maybe I was drunk,” she mumbled. He smiled over at her, before looking through his cupboards for suitable libations. He pulled out a half-drunk bottle of Firewhisky and a few bottles of lager from the fridge and held them up. She pointed at the smaller bottles.

“Pansy Parkinson drinking lager? Not very ladylike,” he said.

“I’m in a man’s flat after spending the entire night drinking Firewhisky with him, I think we’re beyond ladylike.” He nodded in agreement, flicked the top of the bottle off with his wand and handed it over to her. She hesitated and looked like she was about to ask how she was meant to drink this. She watched as he put his bottle to his lips and mimicked him. He studied her lips in fascination. The vacuum created by the bottle had pulled her top lip and caused it to swell slightly, and he gazed as her delicate pink tongue darted across them to catch the drops of liquid. He gulped and looked up at her eyes. The intensity there made him look away and he could feel the tips of his ears warm up. He gestured for her to follow him into the living room. She flicked her wand over the sofa that he had collapsed upon earlier that day then took a seat beside him. He glanced up at the clock that sat on the mantelpiece and saw that it was past two o’clock in the morning. 

_Merlin, I’ve been up for nearly twenty-four hours_.

He looked over a Pansy then. Her elbow was on the back of the sofa and rested her head on her hand. Despite her earlier reluctance to sit down, she had slipped her shoes off and tucked her feet underneath her. Her hair was slightly tousled from her running her fingers through it all night, so much so that a couple of the slides had come loose or fallen out completely, and her cheeks were pink from the alcohol. She was smiling at him in a way that relaxed her features, and the sparkle in her eyes was enchanting.

“What made you invite me along tonight?”

“You looked like you could do with a drink,” she shrugged then took a swig of her drink. “What’s your story, then?”

He looked at her startled, “Haven’t we been talking about me all night?”

She shook her head, “No, I mean, you rambled about Granger for a moment there, but that was it really. So…?”

“There’s not much to tell,” he deflected. 

She glared at him, seeing straight through him. “Fine, different question. Why did you quit the Aurors?”

Under her intense stare, he felt compelled to answer honestly. “It always felt like Harry’s dream, and it was that or go back to school, so I went for that. That was one of the first fights I had with Hermione, actually, she wanted me to come with her back to Hogwarts, but that was always more her thing than mine. I got a few years in, and just… I didn’t belong. And George was in a really bad way after the war, so I quit to help him. It was only meant to be temporary, but…” he paused and thought for a moment. “George is so much better now. He’ll never be over Fred, and he gets this look in his eye sometimes. Angelina has helped. She’s maybe the only person in the world who would remotely know what he’s going through.”

“You’re a good person,” Pansy said gently, startling him. 

Ron felt the tips of his ears going warm again and ducked his head. “Nah, it’s what anyone would have done…”

“You’re the only one of your siblings to be there like that for him.”

“Yeah, well, Bill was dealing with his own stuff - Fleur got pregnant, and Remus dying was big for him; Charlie was out in Romania, he missed the worst of it; Percy blamed himself for Fred’s death and buried himself in work - he was in no state to help, and Ginny had a Quidditch career to focus on. I was the only one who had the time to spare…”

“No,” Pansy said, “you were dealing with stuff too. You just put your brother first.”

“Like I say, anyone would have done it.”

The conversation eventually turned to her experience of the war. She confirmed the rumours about her father, and then some. Ron was surprised to learn the tragic story of her childhood, “Growing up… Looking back, I wonder if my father… anyway, my mother had no authority in our household, it was all about my father and what he believed in.” She explained that it was easy to fall into the mindset of a ‘good little Pureblood’ at school, but by the time the Final Battle rolled around whatever hold her father had over his wife was wearing off. “I don’t know where my mother was for about eighteen months, he wouldn’t tell me. All he told me was that if I didn’t do as he said, she would die.”

“You’re a good person,” he said, echoing her words. She looked like she was about to protest, “No, you are. Your dad, he… no one should do that to someone they’re supposed to love.”

She shrugged and bowed her head. “I’ve never known love to look any other way.”

His heart broke for her then. While it was chaotic, he had grown up in a house that radiated acceptance and happiness. He did not really know what to say to comfort her. He could not imagine living in a space without the love that they all had for each other. The years after the war, and Fred’s death, had been difficult but there was still so much love that they managed to get through it. Reaching out, he gently touched her face.

She looked shocked at the feel of his fingers on her cheek at first, as though physical affection was not something she was accustomed to. Looking up at him curiously through her dark lashes. Whatever she was looking for was apparently there, as she leaned into his touch and the corners of her lips turned up. He took that as a good sign and ran his calloused thumb along her high cheekbone and her eyelids fluttered closed, fully sinking into his caresses and he felt something in his chest. He moved closer and slid his hand slowly down the column of her long pale neck. He realised that he was close enough to her now to see the faint smattering of light freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes snapped open and there was a look in them that he was not sure whether to be excited or scared by.

_Everything I do is something that I have planned in advance_.

She closed the gap between them and pressed her lips to his. Automatically, his hand went to the back of her neck and into her hair while hers wound around his shoulders. The kiss was hesitant, close-mouthed and soft. She drew back slightly to look at him as if to give him space to decide for himself if this was a bad idea. He reached over and took the bottle of lager she still had in her hand and placed it, along with his own bottle, on the small table next to him. 

He pulled her to him. 

This kiss was less hesitant than the last. He tangled his hand back in her silky hair and the kiss soon deepened. He did not know how, but one of her hands had grasped the front of his t-shirt and started tugging at it, bringing their bodies flush together. He could feel his transfigured jeans tighten as she melted into him. 

He realised that as much as he may have missed this, she needed it too. 

He traced one of his hands slowly down the back of her neck, skimming her spine lightly through the open back of her dress. She gave a soft, breathy, sigh into his mouth, and shivered in delight. He continued to trail his fingers down. She broke the kiss and moaned, louder this time, and trembled again when he reached a spot just above her hips. 

It was a glorious sight to him. The prim and proper Pureblood Princess, Pansy Parkinson, hair wild, eyes dark, lips bruised. The sounds he was eliciting from her were blissful to hear. 

He watched her face as he shifted his hands under her skirt, over her hips and down the back of her thighs. He gripped behind her knees so she straddled him, pulling her closer so she would feel his obvious arousal through his jeans.

He kissed her again, then glided his mouth down the side of her neck, over her collarbone. She bit her lip and made a noise somewhere between surprise and pleasure that made him yank her more firmly into him, in an attempt to hear it again. At his renewed attention, she tangled one hand in his hair and one folded around his shoulders.

In a swift motion, and with more balance than he thought he had given the alcohol in his system, he stood. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he carried her into his bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him. He carried them to the small and rickety bed sitting on the edge of the bed with her still in his lap.

“Silencing… charms…” she managed to say breathily.

“Already… up. Mmm… George brings… ah… Angelina home and… ungh… isn’t good at them.”

While he had been talking, she had unbuckled and unzipped his jeans and her delicate but sure hand was under his waistband. Her hand was travelling over his cock while she rocked her hips in time to her hand. Once she had worked him into an incomparable frenzy she stood from his lap. He was disappointed at first at the loss of her body on top of his and hand on him, but when she wrenched his jeans and boxers down his legs in one go then knelt between his knees, he soon forgot his protestations.

With practised gestures, her hand began to work his entire length and her hooded eyes never left his face watching his reactions. On a downward stroke, her lips enveloped him. He groaned so loudly he was sure that the Silencing Charms would not hold. She sucked on him with the same confidence that she seemed to do everything that night. Tongue massaging the underside of his length, cheeks hollowed, one hand working the base of his cock and the other playing with a sensitive spot that Hermione had never discovered.

She started to take him deeper and deeper in her mouth until her lips were touching her fingers. He tentatively put his hands to the back of her head, guiding her movements, but when he felt himself hit the back of her throat his hips involuntarily jerked, causing her to lightly choke. She paused then. Withdrawing her mouth to catch her breath, the hand on his cock did not let up. Once her breathing had returned to normal, she lowered her head again, with more hunger this time. Watching his face, her eyelids fluttered closed as she created a rhythm.

Eventually, he started to feel the familiar build of an orgasm, and not wanting to finish like this, he quickly picked her up from beneath her arms to haul her to her feet. He kicked off his shoes and shucked his jeans. She reached behind her to pull the knot of her dress loose making the blue fabric fall to the floor so that she was standing in just a pair of small lace knickers. 

He looked at her body with awe. It spoke of strength and power. She had a slender waist and small breasts while her long legs were lean but it was clear that they were toned, her hips flared alluringly and her bum was firm and pert. As he was drinking her in, she started to remove her final item of clothing, but he stopped her, grabbing her wrist. He tipped forward to kiss along her hip right hip bone and hooked one thumb in the waistband of the scrap of fabric, dragging it down and his mouth followed. He repeated the action on the other side, dropping the lace to the floor and moving his hands around the back of her hips to hold her firm arse.

He shuffled back in the bed slightly and positioned her so that she was on her knees straddling him to allow him to continue kissing over her sternum, abdomen, hips, her hand gripping his hair. As his kisses moved over her body, he shifted so that her knees were either side of his shoulders. His hands, still on her arse, guided her slowly down. He kissed down her hips and over her thighs, laying back so that she was hovering over his face. When his mouth reached the apex of her thighs he swept his tongue along her slit. She tasted like salted caramel. She gripped his hair tighter, in anticipation and impatience. 

He took another taste of her before focussing his tongue on her clit. Her breathy moans spurred him on as he licked, sucked and lightly bit at her. Her strong thighs shuddered under the intensity of the feelings racking through her body as he started to pump two fingers in and out of her dripping pussy. She tasted divine. He lapped up every single drop of her arousal, relishing the taste. He was sure that he could savour her like this for the rest of his days. Her hips were rocking in time with the speed of his fingers. With one hand clutching his hair so hard, he was sure she had pulled a few strands free, her other hand was pinching and tweaking at her nipples. She was sublime. Uninhibited.

He had to have all of her.

He began to slowly sit up, retracing the path he had created with his kisses earlier in reverse. His lips eventually trailed up across her collar bone, over her neck. When their lips met and she moaned at her taste on him. It was almost possessive. She reached between them and held his cock to guide him into her entrance. As she sank onto him, he kissed anywhere his mouth could wonder, until she bent and met him in another fiery kiss. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders to give herself purchase and began to ride him. He allowed her to set the pace, which was slow and cautious at first, as though testing their strength, but soon picked up.

Once a pace was set, he turned his attention first to one nipple, then the other, with kisses, licks, bites. He was mesmerised by her like this. Completely free, unconstrained. He kneaded her arse, hips, thighs, dragging her closer, pushing himself deeper. She pushed him so that he was flat on his back, hips never losing their momentum. He tried to sit up and recapture her sweet peaks, but she pushed him again, a fierce look in her eyes. They stayed like this for a while, her eyes closed in bliss, moaning and writhing on top of him, his hands caressing any skin they could reach until she fell forward so that they were face to face once more. Her elbows lightly pressed into his shoulders, keeping him on his back. 

He bent his knees and clenched her hips to piston in and out of her. Fast and hard and unrestrained. Hitting a sweet spot inside her, making her moan louder and mutter incoherently, he started to feel her walls flutter around him. He moved one hand between them to rub her tender bundle of nerves, and she screamed into the duvet, falling over the edge. Once she had found her release he allowed himself to find his own, spilling himself inside her.

She collapsed on top of him, spent, and his body felt relaxed beneath her. After a moment for both of them to catch their breath, she rolled off him and he turned over to face her. She still looked a little dazed, and he could not help but smile and wrap an arm around her, kissing her slowly. He reluctantly lifted his body from hers to find his wand before casting a quick _Scorgify_ to clean them up. He looked at her watching him.

He smiled at her wolfishly, and just as he was moving his hands over her body to begin another round, he heard a crash from the corridor. Grabbing his wand again, he cast a _Tempus_. The numbers _05:36_ flashed in front of them. He looked down at her and grinned.

“I’ve been up for twenty-four hours.”

“Can you do a couple more?” she asked, a challenging look in her jade green eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> So, the word count for this was supposed to be 3, 500, but they just kept having sex!
> 
> I hope you like this.


End file.
